


Another memory passes of you

by the_empty_pen



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: (and failing), F/M, This is very short, jack being the homeless fellow that he is, jack learning to dance, jack trying to figure out feelings and love, set a few days after their first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_empty_pen/pseuds/the_empty_pen
Summary: Lacie has taken it upon her to teach Jack dancing, since he hasn't ever gotten the chance to learn.Jack, meanwhile, is occupied with thoughts of how she's changed him, how she's made him feel something that nearly could be described as that - a feeling.
Relationships: Lacie Baskerville/Jack Vessalius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Another memory passes of you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> As I've already said in the tags, this is rather short.  
> I just had this very vague idea of Jack and Lacie dancing together in my mind for months and now I kind of blurted it out, so.,,,,  
> this was kinda therapeutic to write, ha.
> 
> Title and lyrics are from "Beautiful girl" by iris!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> -Jack
> 
> ___
> 
> Content warning: Mention of canon compliant prositution

_Woke today, another memory passes of you.  
Shades of grey from those three broken words  
That unfold the truth._

*

The sunlight is shining through the shattered window. It breaks mid-way through, throwing shades of all possible colours onto the wooden ceiling. The white paint has chipped off the walls and the ceiling of the tiny hut, the leather of the two chairs placed in it showing cracks all over.  
The floor is creaking below their feet, with every single one of their steps. 

“You’re bad at this, Jack.”

Part of him wants to roll his eyes. He told her that he can’t dance, has never learned it, and hasn’t ever had a reason to either. He’s lived on the streets for the majority of his life, his mother didn’t ever bother with him, only ever with a father who he’d never seen.  
There’s no way he could ever roll his eyes at Lacie. In the beginning it was easy.  
Looking at her with empty eyes, staring right through her. As if she didn’t exist. She was just a random girl in the streets, in a white dress, feet bare.

“I told you.”

He can’t do this anymore. Saying no to her.  
How would he, when she’s looking like this?  
Black hair swaying, every single colour of the rainbow reflecting in it. Eyes as red as the blood he sees almost daily, white dress floating with every step.

Jack has never seen someone this beautiful.  
He can’t quite pin down what it is that makes him think this way. Is it her body, so elegant in her moves? Her voice that hums the same tune all over, repeating it until it’s stuck in his mind for eternity? Is it that mind of hers, sharp and honest and clever?  
Or perhaps the way she’s broken, deep inside, so unpredictable to him while he can predict everyone else? 

For his entire life, he has watched people, observed them to the point of being able to predict their every move, every single word leaving their mouths. But whenever he tries it with _her_ , he fails. She says the opposite of what he thinks she might say. When asked about what she likes in the world, she never mentions the positive aspects. It’s always the negative ones.  
The way flowers wither and it storms deep at night and people die.  
She sees the beauty in all the ugly things.

“Still, you should know the basics for dancing, when you’re the son of such a wealthy man.”

Both of them know it’s not the truth. He’s the son of a Vessalius, yes, looks just like him. But he’s also the son of a woman who did nothing but sleep with other men for money, a dirty job, or at least he thinks it is.  
Lacie told him it’s not, so maybe it isn’t.  
She’s right, he should start questioning things – no.  
Questioning things means caring about them. He can’t afford to do this.

“I can’t, though. You have to properly teach me.”

She wraps her hand around his, clasps it tight in hers. Her fingers are small compared to his, delicate.  
She’s adapted to the streets rather quick. While she’s full of questions, she surely has no problems getting used to something. Yes, Jack’s fingers are stained with much more blood and dirt than hers; but there’s still mud below her nails, thin cracks on her hands that show how dry her skin has gotten.  
It’s obvious that she’s still a pampered girl, despite it all. Her skin is much softer compared to his, hair silkier than his could ever be.

“Fine. I’ll lead for now.”

And she does. With fierce step, fierce hands, one of them on his waist. Her nails are digging into the cloth of the coat he’s stolen just yesterday, a pastel green to match his eyes, as she’s said.  
Jack has never really cared about fashion or anything of the like. Growing up being seen as someone else and then spending his days on the street really didn’t make him think of it as important.

If Lacie tells him to do something, he does it. She’s questioned the ‘why’ more often than he did, so she must know better, right?

Her red eyes are glinting, shining, shimmering when they meet his.  
A tremble goes through his body, a reaction as fast as a shooting star. Almost as hot, too. It ignites something inside of him, his very being dry enough for a spark to be set off.  
Since he’s not used to it, the slight burn _hurts_. While other people may be used to flames, fire, blazes even, he can’t endure the tiniest of sparks inside of him.  
Technically, he knows that’s what people usually describe as a feeling. But can that really be it?  
Why is this random girl that appeared in front of him, stretched out her hand, the one that breaks that everlasting feeling of numbness?  
He hasn’t asked for this, but despite all of the pain, it doesn’t feel… bad.

“You just follow my steps with your feet. Don’t step onto mine, please. My feet hurt enough as they are.”

Pampered. She can’t even stand being barefoot for a few days in winter. He’s lived without shoes for weeks once, his feet nearly freezing off to the point of hurting so badly he nearly cut them off.

“Where am I supposed to put my hand?”, he asks her, prompting another one of those grins. Grins that he feels only he should see.  
He wraps his thumb around the back of her hand, brushes over her knuckles. 

“Usually, my waist. Since I’m leading, you should put your free one to my shoulder, though.”

Her shoulder is barely covered by the one white strap on it. Actually, it’s nearly torn. Can he really touch her flawless skin like that, with those calloused hands of his? The part of her skin that isn’t yet cracked and dirty, like her small fingers?  
Won’t that darkness inside of him spread to her? Then again, doesn’t she also have a darkness inside of her? Maybe it hasn’t spread to her heart yet. Maybe she isn’t quite feeling that numbness, maybe it will never reach her heart. 

“Come on now, man, you can be pretty annoying at times. Put your damned hand to my shoulder now.”

Jack takes a deep breath and places just his fingertips on the strap of her dress and the skin around it. Her shoulder is warmer than he had expected; the little hut apparently warming up both of them.  
Again, she starts humming the tune, then sings it.

He wonders if this is the way he feels towards her, taking a step backward when she takes one forward. He wonders if he would start trembling like a child if she kissed him; not that she ever would. Not that he would.  
Tainting her with his hands is already bad enough. Those are hands that have survived on the streets and done dirty things.  
But his lips – they’re much worse. They’ve whispered things of not caring about eh world – until he met her. Things of hating everything, nations, friends – until he met her.  
Words have left them that he’d rather not think about.

There’s no way he could ever bring himself to kiss her and pass them on to her.

But now, with her cheekily smiling up at him, it’s so hard not to. Her lips are curved, stained with a bit of blood from where they’ve cracked because of the cold.  
He wants to kiss her, taste that bit of blood, wants to know if it tastes the same as his or if it tastes like the stars and the moon and the snowflakes that she’s appeared in.

“Hey”, she voices, “you nearly stepped on my foot. Pay a bit more attention to what you’re doing, will you?”

Jack forces himself to tear his attention away from her lips, instead redirect it to her eyes. They’re the same colour as the blood anyways.  
A tiny smile appears on his face.  
He would tremble if she ever were to kiss her. It would kill him, considering how he can barely even deal with holding her like this, fire consuming him and only leaving ashes.

“Sorry, Lacie.”

There’s no snow outside this day.

*

_I'll never forget those eyes, that beautiful smile._  
I still remember the way you said "good-bye"  
No matter how hard I try I can't forget about- 


End file.
